


Three Coins for Sweet Revenge

by Brom



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Crimes, Gen, Los Angeles in the 40s, M/M, Murder, Ricky is a hoe for classic literature, Tinsley is very tired, also the Mob is involved, and singing, i don’t even know where this is going, kinda wholesome for a crime story, like so slow, lots of pining, much Jazz, perhaps a confession, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brom/pseuds/Brom
Summary: Anyone who ever studied true crime cases has heard of the gruesome murders of the Coin Killer. No? Well, then that might be because they happened in a different timeline.However, the story goes something like this:The year is 1946 and the well-respected criminal Ricky Goldsworth is making a certain police detective’s life more difficult than it should be. Does he do that on purpose? Probably.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, before you start reading I wanna say the following:  
I have no idea where this story will go or if I‘ll ever be able to finish it. The reason I started writing it was because I challenged myself, but I‘m always critical about my writing, so... who knows?  
I do have a lot of plans for this though, maybe that‘s enough motivation to continue.
> 
> However, have fun!

** 22nd October, 1946 **

It was a foggy morning in fall, a Tuesday to be specific. The streets of Los Angeles were still quiet, except for some lonely cars on their way to work.  
Police detective C. C. Tinsley, nearly no one ever knew what C. C. stood for, looked at his own reflection in the mirror in his small bathroom, adjusting his tie, getting ready for work. Although he didn’t need to wear a uniform, Tinsley always tried to look as neat as possible. He was representing the police department after all.

The image in the mirror still showed how the last case took its toll on him. The death of children was always the hardest to cope with. It was an accident, but the child got ripped out of its family nonetheless.  
He inspected his face closely. The bags under his eyes, the stubbles that slowly appeared on his chin, his hair getting too long. He probably should go to a barber soon.

Then his train of thought got interrupted by the phone ringing. He went over to the living room and picked up the phone with a monotonous “Tinsley“.  
“We need you here as soon as possible. A murder happened, in the park downtown”, his sergeant’s voice rang through the phone.  
“Alright, I’ll meet you there.“  
He grabbed his badge and notebook from the kitchen table, put on his coat and rushed out of the apartment and into his car. 

A few minutes later, the detective arrived at the crime scene, where the sergeant was already inspecting the dead body. A man, probably in his thirties, lying front down on the ground, a bullet wound in his back.  
“Well, seems like the cause of death is very obvious”, Tinsley said as he approached the body and the sergeant.  
“Yeah”, sergeant McClintock answered.  
“Do we know who he is?”  
“Emiliano Perron. The patrol found him this morning.” The sergeant pulled his eyebrows together. There were some things you never got used to, murder being one of them.

Tinsley bend over the dead body, looking more closely at the wound. “Italian?”  
“Seems so.”  
“Maybe connected to the Mob?”, Tinsley asked and looked over to the sergeant.  
“Possibly.” He nodded in agreement.  
“Not a very honorable death, shooting someone in the back”, the detective said and scanned the body again, when something caught his eye.

One of the victim’s hand was clenched in a fist as if he was holding something. Tinsley carefully opened it, revealing a small, golden coin.  
“Look at this!”, he exclaimed, examining it. There were no symbols, nor writing on it. Just a plain, golden coin. “Odd.”  
He packaged the evidence and left the body alone.  
More and more reporters appeared at the crime scene, which meant they should hurry up and send them away as fast as possible.  
“Anything of interest found in the surrounding area, perhaps the murder weapon?”  
“Sadly not. Our officers searched the whole park but found nothing.”  
Tinsley rubbed his nose. “Seems like the killer knew what they were doing.”  
Sergeant McClintock nodded and turned around to talk to the medical examiner.

The detective stood still for a moment and scribbled something into his notebook, when a weird feeling suddenly overcame him. The feeling as if he was being watched. Technically, he was. There were many police officers and reporters at the scene and some of them were probably looking at him. But it wasn’t that kind of watched, he felt more… inspected, examined, just like he did with the dead body a minute ago. 

“Our job here is done. Can you give me a ride to the precinct?”  
“Ah, sure thing”, Tinsley said as the sergeant interrupted his train of thought for the second time this morning.  
The two walked over to his car and the sergeant placed himself on the passenger seat, ready to leave.  
But Tinsley just had to take a quick look at all the people there.  
Something seemed off. Some_one_ seemed off. Specifically speaking a man in a black coat standing right behind some reporters. He seemed to hide.

“Tinsley?”, the sergeant brought him back to reality once again.  
“Sorry, just got lost in thought.” He sat down in the driver’s seat, started the engined and pulled over to the road.  
“You okay?”, the sergeant asked him with a worried look on his face.  
Banjo McClintock always noticed when something wasn’t right. He was a kind man. Maybe not the best at his job, but very kind. Tinsley had worked under his command for a couple of years now and over time they became a well-coordinated team.  
Banjo was one of the few people he completely trusted. And one of the few he called a friend.  
“Yeah, I just… didn’t sleep very well last night.” He tried to brush it off as nothing, but Banjo knew him a little bit too well for that.  
“Still the case about the little girl?”  
“Yeah”, he answered, focusing on the street.  
The rest of the drive was silent.

The precinct was as crowded as it always was on a Tuesday. Some police officers walked around, people were waiting to report something, reporters asked for more information about specific cases. All in all, a normal Tuesday.  
The detective walked over to the office he shared with Banjo, taking a quick glance at some of his colleagues along the way. They didn’t like him. Never did, and never would. Some of them were just jealous because of the countless cases he solved over the years, but most of them despised him for being too weird. He didn’t care about it. And his sergeant didn’t either.  
Officially, the two of them worked as a team. Unofficially, Tinsley solved most of the cases and let Banjo take credit for it. He didn’t mind it, on the contrary, he actually liked this arrangement. As a detective he didn’t have much power, but that also meant he didn’t have much responsibility.  
Banjo gave him a fair amount of freedom in return for his good work and still tried to help him in any way possible.

But now he had to focus on the case, which turned out to be harder than he thought. Tinsley leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and lit up a cigarette. It usually helped him concentrate.  
He thought about the victim, possible motives and possible murderers.  
A clean shot in the back. The victim had no chance of seeing who shoot him, but he was also probably dead within a couple of seconds.  
Murder of passion? Unlikely. This looked like a professional killer.  
Suddenly his theory about the Mob being involved seemed even more plausible. He wrote his thoughts down into his notebook.

“Got any ideas already?” Banjo entered the room.  
“Kind of”, Tinsley said, stubbing out his cigarette.  
“Alright. I found out where the victim lived. Wanna check out his apartment and grab lunch on our way?”  
“Let’s go.” He stood up, pushed the chair back at his desk and grabbed his coat.  
The sergeant led the way out of the precinct with Tinsley right behind him. They stopped at a small bakery before continuing their way down the street. The apartment wasn’t far.  
The cold air of fall was still present, even though the sun tried to push it away through the clouds.

At the victim’s apartment, the landlord opened the door for the two detectives.  
“Did he live here alone?”, Tinsley asked while his eyes wandered around the room.  
“Yes.”  
“Any friends or family, who maybe came to visit from time to time?”  
“None that I know of. He sometimes had guests, but they usually didn’t come here a second time”, the landlord explained.  
The apartment was relatively tidy. The furniture was standard, not too expensive, not too cheap. Some things, like books and household necessities, were lying around, but all in all nothing out of the ordinary. But there must be something. Something, that gives a hint to why he was killed, who did it. Anything.  
Banjo continued questioning the landlord, while Tinsley walked into the bedroom, searching for some private documents like letters or maybe photos. He looked at the nightstand. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.  
Then he spotted something reflecting on the ground in the corner. He took it and stared at it in confusion. It was another plain, golden coin. “Very odd.”  
He continued his search for a couple of minutes more before returning to Banjo. Together they wandered around in the rest of the apartment, but they didn’t find anything that could be linked to his death. Nothing. Not even the books gave a clue.  
It seemed like this guy didn’t have a personal life, no friends, no family.

“Any useful information from the landlord?”, Tinsley asked as they made their way back to the precinct.  
“Well, he also didn’t know what Perron worked as, but he always paid his rent on time, so no complains about that”, he explained.  
“Aha, anything else?”  
“Yes, actually. And that’s very interesting for our case. He said that he heard footsteps last night. Rushing into the apartment and a couple of minutes later rushing out of the apartment. Could’ve been the victim though before his little walk in the park”, Banjo told him further.  
“You mean like he just got something from his apartment and then left again?”  
The sergeant nodded.

Back at the office the two collected the little evidence and information they had about the victim and arranged it on the cork board on their office wall. It wasn’t much yet, but it was a beginning.  
“It’s already late. I’m gonna head home now”, Banjo said while Tinsley stared at the board, deep in thought.  
“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll stay a little longer.” His gaze still didn’t leave the board.  
“Don’t let it be too long though”, Banjo commanded.  
“I’ll try.”  
Tinsley was finally alone. He lit up a cigarette and leaned against his desk, examining the evidence.  
There was something odd about this case. They had the victim’s identity, but not much information about him. His apartment was ordinary, _too_ ordinary. And of course, the two golden coins, at the crime scene and at the apartment. Both of them coming from the victim seemed like the obvious explanation, but the detective was sure that there was more to them than that.

After thinking about this for another hour without any success, Tinsley decided to go home.  
By the time he left the precinct it was already dark outside and the streets where wet from the rain. He wrapped his coat a little tighter, nearly sprinting to his car in an attempt to stay as dry as possible. On his way, Tinsley realized he had that feeling again. That feeling of being watched. He took a quick look around him and decided it must be his mind playing tricks, since there was no one else on the street but him. He sighed in relief as he entered his car.  
A couple of minutes later he arrived at home and went up the stairs, past his landlady’s apartment and into his own on the third floor.  
It was small, but it was enough for him. The front door led directly into the kitchen, with a doorway on the right to the living room. The living room had two doors, one leading to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom.  
For a long time he wondered if he had to move out once he entered a relationship again, but after years of that not happening he truly made himself at home in there.

After a small snack for dinner Tinsley sat on his couch in the living room, a cigarette in hand, watching the city outside of the windows. His thoughts went back to the case, more specifically to the small, golden coins. Then over to the man in the black coat at the crime scene.  
This wasn’t just a case like any other. There was something odd about it. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.

He stood up and walked over to the open window. The streets were quiet. Quieter than one would expect from a city like Los Angeles, but it was a regular day during the week after all and many people had to get up early the next morning.  
Tinsley looked at the few lit windows and wondered what the people inside could be doing at that moment. Maybe they just finished dinner, maybe a deep conversation, or maybe they were dancing happily to some music.

Inspired by that thought the detective went over to his record player and put on a recording of Ella Fitzgerald. Her beautiful singing about the lover she has under her skin quickly let him forget about his own problems for a while.  
By the time the recording ended, Tinsley was very tired and finally decided to go to bed.  
It was already late after all, and who knew what the next day would have in store?

** 23rd October, 1946 **

Tinsley’s morning went as usual. He got out of bed at an ungodly hour, drank his morning coffee, got ready for work and then went to, well, work.  
What followed though was anything but usual.

About two corners before the precinct, a very fancy car appeared behind Tinsley, not leaving until he pulled over into the parking lot of the precinct. As he was about to enter the building, he saw the car on the other side of the street. Standing, waiting, without anybody getting out.  
It wasn’t until Banjo saw him standing there that he finally went inside. 

He sat down at his desk, buried his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. After many weeks of running on a minimum dose of sleep, Tinsley was more than ready for some days off to catch up on that. Though it weren’t only the last weeks, actually he felt like he had been sleep-deprived his entire life.  
The sound of a cup being put in front of him woke him up a little more. He rose his head again and found Banjo looking at him with that caring smile he always had.  
“Don’t overwork yourself, son.”  
“You know that I’m technically too old to be your son.”  
“I know, but I still-“ He got interrupted by the door opening. 

A man appeared in the doorway. He wore a fancy suit, had a handsome smile on his face and a black coat resting on his arm. The same coat Tinsley saw yesterday, which means it probably was the same man from yesterday. And the fancy suit fit to the fancy car he saw outside the precinct.  
Tinsley realized he was staring at the man and quickly flipped his attention from those mysterious dark eyes to the cup of coffee in front of him, trying to seem unbothered.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, detectives.” The man took a step forward into the office.  
“It’s just… the guy who got killed yesterday, Emiliano Perron, was a… good friend of mine.”  
“Oh, my deepest condolences!”, Banjo said and drew his eyebrows together in pity.  
“Thank you. I just came here to ask how your work on the case is going so far?” He looked over from Banjo to Tinsley, who successfully ignored him by starring into his cup of coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.  
“Well, you see, Mr-“  
“Jacobs”  
“Mr Jacobs, we are trying our best. But at the current state of the investigation we can’t really say much, I’m afraid.”  
“Alright. Then I’ll just come back soon and-“  
“No.” Tinsley finally entered the conversation. “You can stay here for an interrogation. It seems like you were the only… _friend_ of Mr Perron.”  
The man’s look of confusion by this sudden address turned into a playful smile. “Sure.”

Tinsley led him into one of the interrogation rooms, the sergeant right behind them.  
“Please sit down”, the detective ordered and motioned to one of the chairs.  
“Anything to drink? A coffee maybe?”, Banjo asked, politely as always.  
“A cup of coffee, please. Black, without sugar”, the man said while sitting down.  
The detective took the seat on the opposite side of the table.

“Alright, then. While we’re waiting for the sergeant to return, I’ll take your personal data.” He took out some papers and started scribbling something with his pen.  
“Fancy pen you got there”, the man said while watching him closely.  
Tinsley looked up from the papers, his brows drawn together. “The personal value is what really counts, Mr Jacobs.” He looked back down at the table.  
“First name?”  
“Richard.”  
“Address?”  
The man let out an annoyed sigh. “Somewhere in Los Angeles.”  
Tinsley didn’t react to that answer. “Occupation?”  
“I don’t know, whatever needs to be done”, he answered, the playful smile not leaving his lips.  
The detective looked at him with one raised eyebrow. He was too tired to join this little game.

The door opened and the sergeant appeared with a cup that he placed in front of the mysterious man. Tinsley immediately shoved the papers over to Banjo’s seat, who only looked at the notes in confusion.  
“Alright, then… Tell us about him”, Tinsley said and looked at Mr Jacobs with narrowed eyes.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Tell us anything. His job, hobbies, family.”  
The man seemed puzzled by this question. He looked around the room, seemingly thinking about an answer.  
“Well, I didn’t know him that well. We were acquaintances, not much more.”  
“Interesting.” Tinsley leaned back in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers. “When you entered our office, you said that you two were ‘good friends’.”  
“Then I guess that was something of an… exaggeration on my part”, he said and leaned forward in his chair, suddenly with enough confidence to hold direct eye contact with the detective.  
Banjo watched the scene and tried to take notes of what was going on.

“What are you doing here?”, Tinsley tried again.  
“I’m not sure. You tell me, detective.” The man had a daring look on his face.  
Tinsley thought for a moment, still not breaking the eye contact. He took a deep breath.  
“It’s easy. Considering your shady appearance, you’re a rich and pretty boy, who got himself involved in a murder, and is still so endlessly bored that he went over to bothering the detectives, who are trying to clean up his mess. Accurate?”  
Mr Jacobs raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
“Good guess, detective.”  
“It wasn’t a guess. I know your type.”  
Mr Jacobs let out a sigh. “The problem is just, you have no evidence to keep me here. So I’m just gonna walk out that door, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”  
The playful smile turned into a smug one. And Tinsley immediately hated it.

“Yes, of course. You’re free to go”, Banjo said and glanced over at Tinsley for reassurance.  
“Well, it was nice talking to you, detectives. I’m probably gonna see you soon.” He stood up from his chair.  
Tinsley watched closely as the man slowly took his coat off the chair, threw it over his arm and walked out of the interrogation room as if he didn’t have a single thing in the world to fear. The detective kept his gaze at the door long after he had left.  
“We need to keep an eye on him.”

And with that the day continued just like the day before had ended: The two detectives were sitting in their office, thinking about possible murderers and motives, still without success.  
All they knew about the victim was his name and where he lived. Nothing about a job, about family, friends, anything. It was all unknown. 

Well, and apparently a very shady guy named Richard Jacobs was involved. But what exactly his relationship to the victim was still remains a mystery.  
Tinsley definitely had a bad feeling about him. This man just randomly came into the precinct, straight up lied to two detectives and indirectly confirmed his involvement in the murder. What sane person would ever do that?

Anyway, back to the case. So far they were still missing a murderer, someone with a motive, but there was an idea going around in the detective’s head. Actually since he examined the victim’s dead body.  
“Maybe the immigration authority can help us with this one. I have a suspicion.”  
Tinsley picked up the phone and called said authority, while Banjo watched him with a look of expectancy.

A couple of minutes later and somehow wiser, the detective hung up the phone and looked at the notes he took.  
“Just like I thought.” He lit himself a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Our victim only immigrated to the United States last winter. His family is still in Italy, probably wondering why he didn’t answer their last letter.”  
“And what is your theory now?”, the sergeant asked, a puzzled look on his face.  
“A man suddenly immigrating from Italy to the USA, no-one to go to, no job. He probably searched for a new… _family_. And we all know what happens when you do something they don’t approve.”  
A streak of realization hit Banjo, he knew exactly what the detective was thinking.  
“Sounds plausible”, he said, knowing that he never would’ve thought of this as a possibility.  
“The problem is just that we’ll never find the killer if it was really the Mob. They’re too good at covering up their tracks.” Now the sergeant’s face went over to worry.  
“I’m not saying that it’s definitively the Mob, but it’s a possibility we should keep in mind.”

Tinsley stumped out his cigarette and walked over to the cork board to add the new information. Another glance over all the evidence and his mind wandered back to the same old question: How did those golden coins fit in with all of this?  
He didn’t have an answer, not even a clue to that question.

Ricky sat in his office, at least his equivalent of an office, with his feet placed on the desk and watched the people outside of the window. Well, he didn’t necessarily watch them. His eyes simply found their way to the streets while his mind was many miles away, at the precinct to be specific and the visit he payed it a couple of hours ago. The detectives were quite bewildered by his performance and just the mere thought of those puzzled looks brought a self-satisfied smile to his face. One of them was able to see through his mask, but that only made the whole situation more interesting.  
He could’ve lived in that memory forever, but Ricky was pulled back into reality by the phone ringing. How much he hated those things sometimes.

“Hello?”  
“Goldsworth, come to the club. We got another job for you”, the voice at the end of the line ordered.  
Before he could even give an answer, the caller had already hung up the phone. But Ricky knew who it was anyway, the rude tone was enough to give it away.  
“Well, seems like I’ll have to make another visit”, he announced to himself.

And with that, Ricky stood up from the desk and made his way out of the room. He walked down the stairs, and grabbed his coat from the rack, as the Mayor entered the hallway.  
“You’re going out, Mr Goldsworth?”  
“Yes, I have some business to do.”  
“I wish you good luck, then.”  
“Thank you.”  
While crossing the front yard of the house Ricky considered to take the car, but decided to walk instead. He was more anonymous on the busy sideways and blending in with the crowd gave him a feeling of comfort.

The streets were busy. People came home from work, went to get groceries or, like in Ricky’s case, go to a club. Not that he went there by choice on this particular day. On the opposite, he would’ve much preferred to stay at home reminiscing today’s happening at the precinct.  
Instead he was forced to work for those people again. They treated Ricky like a subordinate, ignorant of who was really the one in control. But one day he would crush them all like little bugs under his feet, he swore to himself.  
A couple of minutes and some blocks later he arrived at his destination. The red sign with “The Black Shack“ written on it greeted him like an old enemy. The smell of smoke and beer hit him as he opened the door. The bar counter was the best place for Ricky to be found by one of the staff, he decided. And the very familiar bartender surely delivered a nice view while he waited.

“Are you here for fun or for business?”, said bartender asked.  
“For business, this time. But don’t worry, I’ll come back for fun.” He winked at the man behind the counter and got a shy smile in return.  
The conversation had only started, but was already declared to be ended by a tap on his shoulder and a mumbled “Follow me”. He did as he was told and landed in the backroom of the bar, where the real deals were made. The table in the middle of the room was occupied by two familiar figures, who turned around as the door behind Ricky closed.  
“Ah, Mr Goldsworth. We need your services again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I actually managed to write another chapter.  
If you notice any spelling errors, grammatical mistakes or plotholes, please tell me. I'm not a native speaker and often very tired while writing.
> 
> Anyway, have fun!

**25th October, 1946******

** **** **

** **** **

Ricky opened the door of the bar and immediately got hit by a wave of warm air. He went inside and looked around the room. Some people were sitting at the tables, others were standing at the bar and again others were dancing in front of the small stage. But none of them was the person he was supposed to meet. A small table at the wall was unoccupied and so Ricky decided to sit down and wait after placing his coat at the coat reck near the door. The man surely would arrive soon. And he did just as the waitress brought Ricky his ordered scotch a couple of minutes later.

“Ah, sorry that I let you wait. Traffic is unpredictable.”  
“It’s alright”, Ricky answered with the usual playful smile on his lips.  
The man placed himself across from him.  
“Can I get you something to drink, Sir?”, the waitress asked.  
He looked over at Ricky’s drink. “The same for me, please.”  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
“The pleasure is all mine.” He gave Ricky a hesitant smile.  
The light in the bar was low, but it was enough for Ricky to observe the man’s beautiful green eyes. Too bad they wouldn’t be open much longer. 

“So, uhm… were you ever at this bar before?”, the man tried to break the ice.  
“Actually, no. It only opened up a couple of months ago.”  
And with that their little small talk began. The band played another jolly jazz song and the waitress brought the ordered drink.  
He held up his drink. “Cheers, then.”  
Ricky did the same. “To a… pleasant night.”

An emergency call on a Friday night was probably one of the worst things to ever happen. And if the detectives, who are supposed to look into it, are preoccupied, Tinsley and McClintock have to step in. Their current case wasn’t even solved yet, but an emergency call has a higher priority.  
And so, the two of them had no choice but make their way to a bar, where a man apparently collapsed and didn’t wake up again.

The police officers already secured the crime scene and took the statements of some witnesses by the time they arrived.  
“So, what happened?”, Tinsley asked as they approached a police officer taking notes.  
“Well, this man, named Luciano Vargas, was staggering around, people thought he was just drunk”, he told the two detectives. “And then he died. On the floor. In the middle of the bar.”

Tinsley stepped closer to the body. The man was laying on his side with both arms pressed against his stomach. “Hmm… his position looks like he was in pain. And with the symptoms you described it sounds like he was poisoned. Do the witnesses all say the same?”  
The officer scanned his notes. “Yeah, pretty much.”  
“Okay. And they didn’t move anything?”  
“No, we made sure of it. Over there is the table he was seated the whole night.” He pointed over to the table next to the body. The detective looked over to said table and examined the glasses placed on it. He took out a tissue and lifted one of the glasses carefully. “Interesting…”  
“What?”, Banjo asked and walked over to him.  
“You smell that?” Tinsley held the glass in the sergeant’s direction.  
“Almonds?”  
“Not quite.” He put the glass back on the table. “Bitter almond. A sign for cyanide.”  
Banjo nodded and took another look at the table. “A table for two. And it was also used by two people. Who sat with him at this table?”  
“We didn’t find out yet”, the officer answered.  
“Then I guess it is time to find out now.” Tinsley took a step back from the scene and looked over to the witnesses gathered on the other side of the room. “Does anyone know who was sitting with him at this table?”

“Well, there was a man with him”, the waitress answered.  
“You got his name by any chance?”  
“No, I’ve never seen him here before, he didn’t say a name.”  
“Anyone else maybe?” The room stayed silent. “If no-one of you knows him, can you describe how he looked?”

“I think I know which man you mean. He arrived a little before the poor guy. Uhm… dark hair, looked black in the light. And his skin was also dark. Not like mine, but he wasn’t white, if you know what I mean”, the doorman stepped forward.  
“And you saw him when he entered the bar?”  
“Yes, and when he put his coat on the coat reck. I can tell you, a man like this doesn’t go unnoticed in this part of town.”  
Tinsley drew his eyebrows together. “In what way?”  
“Well, he was much too fancy dressed.”  
“I see…” Tinsley took notes of the man’s description. “Any other characteristics, like a scar or perhaps a tattoo?”  
“Nothing I can recall except for a ring with a black stone on his left hand”, the waitress added.  
“And where is this man now?”, Tinsley asked.  
The doorman thought for a moment. “He left… shortly before the poor man… well…”

“Does this mean he was… murdered?”, a woman asked.  
“We can’t say it for sure, but the evidence seems like that’s the case, ma’am.”  
“Oh no… something so terrible…”  
“Does this mean we are in danger?”, the woman’s companion asked.  
“No, that’s unlikely, but if anyone of you feels ill, please contact one of the officers”, the sergeant said.

Tinsley turned around to face the officer he previously talked to. “Do we have any other belongings of the victim?”  
“Uhm… yes, we found his coat.” He looked around the room until he saw it laying on another table. He handed it over to Tinsley.  
“Checked yet?”  
“No, Sir.”  
The detective went through the pockets and placed everything he found on the table. A pencil, a plain piece of paper, a movie ticket. Nothing useful. He was about to stop his search when he suddenly felt something solid in the inner pocket. And that solid thing turned out to be a golden coin, just like the ones he previously found. “This is getting too odd.”

Banjo looked at the thing in Tinsley’s hand. “What is that?”  
“Another golden coin. Looks like this murder might be connected to our case.”  
“Then I guess we now have two cases to solve.”  
He rubbed his nose. “And I guess I know who this mysterious man is.”

**28th October, 1946******

** **** **

** **** **

Another death, another case, another day of wondering about those golden coins.  
Tinsley spent his whole weekend thinking about it. And his Monday didn’t seem to turn out any differently.  
He was back at the precinct and stared at the cork board, hoping that it might use telepathy to give him the knowledge to make any sense of all of this. Sadly, it didn’t. It was just an inanimate object after all.

This morning he started with calling the registration office. They told him about two Richard Jacobs living in Los Angeles. One was a little boy in elementary school and the other a man in his fifties, who worked in a factory on the other side of town. Neither of them matched the mysterious man in any way.  
With this information the detective concluded he used a wrong name, which made it nearly impossible to ever find him. But the man, who’s name apparently wasn’t Richard Jacobs after all, said that he would ‘see them soon’. In case he really planned on coming back to the precinct, Tinsley just had to wait for him. In the mean time they couldn’t just sit around though, they still got a crime to solve. 

“Alright, time to find out who Luciano Vargas was.” Banjo extended the collection of evidence on the cork board. “Some officers already informed his wife on Saturday. We should pay her a visit.”  
Tinsley took a look at the information Banjo had gathered. A wife, a child, a job in some kind of store. “Well, at least this time we have the chance to find out more about the victim than his name.”  
“Oh, and the coroner wants to call us as soon as he finished the autopsy”, the sergeant added.

Since the coroner was a generally busy guy, the autopsy report would probably take some more hours and so the two detectives decided to ask the victim’s wife for information that might give them a lead.  
The victim lived in a regular worker’s house. Not shabby, but not outstandingly expensive either.  
As Banjo rang the doorbell, a dog began barking from inside the house. Shortly afterwards a woman opened the door.  
“We’re detectives Tinsley and McClintock from the LAPD.” They held out their badges for the woman to see.  
“You’re here because of my… husband, right?”  
“Yes. Would you mind answering some questions?”  
She shook her head slightly and stepped aside to open the door farther. 

The woman led them into the living room and placed herself across from the two detectives on a couch. Tinsley took out his notebook and looked at the questions he wanted to ask.  
“So, Mrs Vargas, did your husband mention where he went on Friday?”  
“No, he just said he had an appointment.” The woman took out a handkerchief and wiped her nose with it. “Something... concerning the business.”  
“And you didn’t ask for more details?”  
“I didn’t think about it. Something like this wasn’t unusual for him.”  
Tinsley nodded.  
“And do you know what those appointments are about in general?”  
“Mostly about customers or suppliers of the shop. You know, talking about business deals.”  
“I understand.” Tinsley took some notes. “And where were you on Friday night?”  
She thought for a moment. “I was at home with my daughter. She’s only five, so I don’t like leaving her alone. You’re not suspecting me, are you?” Mrs Vargas looked at the detectives in concern.  
“No, that’s just the protocol.”  
She nodded understandingly.  
“Would you mind if we took a look around the house?”  
She shook her head. “No, I don’t mind.”

They got up from the couch, Banjo heading into the next room, some kind of office, while Tinsley scanned the living room. Just as he was taking a look at the book shelf, the detective felt a tug at his coat and looked down to find the daughter standing next to him, holding a grip of the fabric.  
“Amelia, dear, please go back to your room”, her mother ordered.  
“Oh no, it’s fine.” Tinsley crouched down to look at the girl eye to eye. He usually wasn’t much of an expert when it came to kids, but it was worth a try, wasn’t it?  
“Hello, little lady. Can I help you?”  
The girl looked at him and nodded hesitantly.  
“What can I do for you?”

She grabbed his coat again and turned around, signaling him to follow her. Tinsley did and shortly after landed in her room, where she finally let go of his coat. The little girl walked over to a drawer at the wall and went through its contents. A moment later, she held a piece of paper in her hand and walked over to the detective with it.  
“What is this?”, he asked.  
“Daddy lost it.” She handed the paper over to him and he unfolded it. It seemed to be a letter, or a note of sorts. Definitely a message addressed to the deceased. 

“Will he come home soon?”  
Tinsley was caught off guard. He didn’t know what to say. The girl deserved to know the truth, but he couldn’t just straight up tell her, right? She was a child after all, and who knew how she’d react.  
“You have to ask your mother about that.” He gave her a comforting smile, which seemed to work because she smiled back at him. Perhaps he was getting better with kids after all.

“Well, I’m gonna look if I can find anything else. Thank you for this, Amelia.” And with that the detective took a look at the other rooms on the floor, but there was nothing even mildly suspicious or unusual. As he reunited with Banjo downstairs, he signaled him to leave. 

“Alright, Mrs Vargas, thank you for your time. We’ll keep you updated, and we’d appreciate if you’d stay available, just in case we have any other questions.”  
Mrs Vargas nodded and led them to the door.

“Well, it seems like he was a good father. And a good husband”, Tinsley stated as they headed to the car.  
“But was he really or does it just seem that way?”  
“No, he was really. You could see it at their reactions. The poor family…”  
“Sometimes it just can’t be helped.”  
“I know.”

Back at the office the two detectives added the new information to the cork board, one of them being the message addressed to Mr Vargas. It said something along the lines of:  
“Meeting on 10/25  
At Old Ale House  
some guy with ‘gold’ in his name, only overheard it”  
It was simply a note for the victim’s information, but the really interesting part was the last line. At least one clue to who they were searching.  
While Tinsley was deep in thought, the phone rang and the sergeant picked it up.  
“Alright, thank you.” Banjo hung up the phone. “That was the coroner. Any guesses?”  
Tinsley rubbed his chin. “Cyanide?”  
“Correct. It was put in his drink. One of the glasses from the table was contaminated with it.”  
“And the other one? Were there any useful fingerprints on it?”  
“Nope, completely clean.”  
“Oh no, that doesn’t look good for us. Seems like a professional, or at least someone who knows what they’re doing.” Wait, didn’t he say that before? Yes, yes, he did. But there should be some kind of clear motive. 

“Maybe it was a customer or supplier who got angry”, Tinsley thought aloud.  
“But is that a reason to kill?”  
“Depends on what went wrong.”  
Perhaps that was the case. But what’s the connection to the first victim? Well, it could be anything with that little information they had about him. It wasn’t a lead, but at least an idea.

**7th November, 1946******

** **** **

** **** **

The moment Tinsley entered the precinct, he was greeted by a very happy Banjo with the words: “Good news! In fact, very good news!”  
“What is it?”, the detective asked. It was way too early to be this happy.  
“We got some mail.”  
“By whom?”  
“The court.”  
The court? The court... What did they want with the court? Ah, right! That could only mean one thing. “Well, then it’s time to pay someone another visit.”

The bell rang. Someone entered the shop. The owner left the storage room to see if he could help the customer, but was immediately greeted by a “Mr Bianchi, Detectives McClintock and Tinsley from the LAPD, I think you remember us.”  
“Oh, detectives. How may I help you this time?”  
“We got the search warrant you demanded.” Tinsley said and held the piece of paper for the shop owner to see. “May we take a look around now?”, he teased.  
The sarcastic remark only made Mr Bianchi’s uncomfortableness even more visible. He just nodded. 

The two detectives took, as they said, a look around the shop, starting with the shelves in the sales room. Tinsley was scanning the products for anything that looked, even in the slightest, suspicious. Sadly he went through all of the shelves before he could find anything.  
“It’s clean. I’ll take a look at the storage room.” 

And so the detective went into the small back room. The walls there were crammed with shelves. They were less tidy than the ones in the sales room though and so it took Tinsley a longer time to go through them.  
At first he couldn’t find anything suspicious, but the shop owner standing in the doorway got more nervous and nervous with every minute and there must be a reason for it. He didn’t find it on the shelves, but rather in Mr Bianchi’s face as he reached the sugar. Still observing the man’s reactions, the detective picked up one of the packages of sugar and carefully opened it to take a look inside. What he found was a white, slightly beige, powdery substance. Nothing unusual for sugar. But as he took a closer look inside, he noticed something. “Sergeant, we should ask for backup.”

Banjo immediately came over to see what Tinsley found. Said detective just gave him the package. He checked it and noticed the same thing as Tinsley. “Well, that doesn’t smell like sugar!”


End file.
